Prison and Prayer

With Bubba’s death, 2004 had proven to be a continuation of 2003. To this day, I do not know where one year stopped and the others began. ’03, ’04 and ’05 are all the same to me.

Our litigation against the county was moving very slowly (we did not know at the time that it had come to a screeching halt right after it began).

Carolyn was still waiting for the phone to ring.

I was still on the couch.

Little Dave, Lorie and my sister, Doc, called about every day, and Jenn and the boys came down from Safford on the weekends, but that, and the constantly droning television, were about the extent of my touch with the outside world.

My social anxiety had escalated in rapid jumps; I could hardly stand to go out of the house, and much to my shame, had stopped going to Mass. (During this time, I discovered that if you don’t answer the phone or the door for long enough periods of time, people will eventually just go away.)

I was so far down that I began to talk to the Lord, rather than communicate with Him in formal prayer (which I seemed quite unable to do). I told Him everything; my heartbreak, my loneliness, my shock and disbelief at the government’s actions, my inability to fight back, and the sense of powerlessness and pervading failure that nailed me to the sofa.

The Holy Spirit was my constant companion. I talked to Him all day, every day. He never left my side. (“I will never leave you nor forsake you.”). My mind was so broken that I could not make the smallest decision, and so I asked Him to decide for me. Lord, how shall I cook these eggs? Should I scramble them? Or maybe boiled would be better?

Jennifer and her boys still came down on weekends when they could, but the rest of the world might as well have been on a planet outside our solar system.

One night there was a terrible rainstorm (I guess it must have been Spring. ’04? ’05?) and the electricity went out. I needed to find a flashlight, and so, terrified, I inched my way through the darkened house.

From the central hallway, my eyes beheld a beautiful glow from the kitchen. There was light in my house! I had forgotten about the Sacred Heart candle on the little altar, but the Lord had not forgotten about me! The kitchen was light and warm and filled with love.
Piggy and I went to sleep on the floor under the table.

In an uncharacteristic display of bravery (for this time in my life, anyway), I decided to call Father Bob and explain to him why I had not been to Mass, why I didn’t answer the door or the phone and why I had seemingly abandoned my church family. (I was going to try to explain a mental illness that I, myself did not understand…)

I guess I must have subconsciously reasoned, that, since my world had stopped, the rest of the world was placed “on hold,” for when Father Bob told me that he was being transferred to Sierra Vista, my emotions ran a ragged gamut. Disbelief, shock, anger, despair – and he was leaving the following day!

I was happy when he told me that he had been promoted; he was now to be the Vicar of Cochise County! But he would be gone from me.

Father Bob had come to our little rag-tag parish, with only a handful of members, from a huge Tucson church which served many families. I had often thought that he must have felt exiled out here; now, he was going on to be Vicar of Cochise County! He would not only be the Vicar, he would be the Pastor of the largest Roman Catholic Church in the county! They even had a school at Our Lady of the Mountains!

I had learned from Father Bob. I had learned about carrying Crosses. I had learned by his love, his compassion and, most of all, by his example. During his time at St. Jude’s, he had suffered the loss of his beloved mother and a bout with cancer. Still, he never complained – he even accepted with joy! During it all, Father Bob planted and grew beautiful roses.

“Why, Lord, Why?” I cried to the inside walls of my house. “You are taking Father Bob away – all the way to Sierra Vista! I know I haven’t been going to church, Lord, but it was such comfort knowing that Father Bob was just down the road!”

The Lord allowed me to wail, rail, squall and bawl all afternoon. Then, when I fell down on the sofa in exhaustion, I distinctly heard Him speak to my heart: Mary, why do you think I brought Father Bob out here in the first place?

For me. For me, the sinner. For me, the most imperfect of all the imperfects. The Lord had brought Father Bob to me for the same reason that He died on the Cross for me. Because He loves me. Because He loves us all. Selah.